1. Matilda

CHAPTER 1

Matilda

Staring at the dials on my dashboard as smoke billows from the hood of my car, I don’t know whether to cry or scream. Maybe laughter is an option. A good maniacal outburst might make me feel better. I doubt it, but a girl can dream.

Today was supposed to be my big break. A way to get out from under the thumb of my current manager/agent and break out on my own. I’ve been modeling since I was ten, and my momager has been the bane of my existence ever since. Leaving her in California to move to Jacksonville, Florida, with my dad was the only decision I’ve made that was acceptable to all parties.

I took this gig for a new magazine and swimsuit line knowing it was a gamble. I was okay with that. When I arrived in Wilmington, North Carolina, late last night, I met the designer of the line and the director of the shoot—both women—which eased my anxiety. Everything was going great today, too, until the photographer cornered me privately and tried to force his hand into the bottom of my bikini.

When I shoved him away, he called me more vile names than I even knew existed. Thankfully, we’d already gotten the shots needed, and the director backed me up. She laced into the man without hesitation because she’d heard rumors circulating around, but nothing had been proven. Well, they were now. It was caught on one of the security cameras in the condo we were renting. After the threat of a lawsuit, he released the images to her and walked away.

I opted to leave, nonetheless.

I was gifted the bikini I’m currently wearing, and stupidly decided to take off early without changing. All I wanted was to get home and into my own bed, wash this trip off, and hope for the best. Instead, I’m stuck on the side of a two-lane highway, praying my pain-in-the-ass car will turn over and not be broken down like it’s indicating. The fact that I decided to take the scenic route home, wanting to stop in Florence, Columbia, and Augusta, was stupid. I’m not far outside Florence, just past the Darlington Raceway, hoping to see the track, but it was all shut down for the night already.

My car should have been fine all the way home, but nooooo, it just had to act up. Pressing the button to pop the hood, I step out of the vehicle into the sweltering heat and lift it. Smoke smacks me in the face like a bad night of drinking, and all I can do is stare.

I don’t know anything about cars. I grew up in the lights of Hollywood, behind a mother chasing fame and realizing she could use me to do it. My father has lived in Florida for most of my life—since the divorce I have no recollection of—and he’s a realtor. He wouldn’t know a damn thing, either.

Leaving the hood raised, I hear the sound of a big rig rolling along, and I have a decision to make. See if the driver can help me or let him drive on by in the hopes my car troubles will magically resolve themselves. Fat chance.

Just as I make the choice to toss on a shirt before waving the guy down, the truck comes around the corner faster than I thought possible, and I wave my hands wildly, hoping whoever is behind the wheel will stop for me. He doesn’t have a load on the back, so it's not as jarring when he halts so suddenly.

Pasting a smile on my face, I try not to think about the fact that I’m wearing a thong bikini, and the top barely covers my nipples. God, what if he tries something? I’m an idiot. I’m the dumb girl in horror movies who dies first because she’s just too stupid to live. Great.

It takes a minute, but the driver steps down from his truck, and I get a good look at him. Flannel shirt unbuttoned, showing off an impressive body with mouthwatering abs I’d like to lick, and sleeves rolled up and exposing corded muscles covered in dark ink. Sunglasses shade his eyes, a beard covers the bottom half of his face, and those thighs… Oh my god. I’m a sucker for big, thick thighs. They ripple with each step he takes, and I find myself not so upset over the idea of him trying something with me.

What is wrong with you, Matilda?

If only my mother could see me now.

“Car trouble?” My nipples erupt like a volcano at the rough rumble in his voice.

“Uh, yeah.” Gosh, he’s tall. So very tall. “Something blew under my hood.” Mortification turns me ten shades of red as his lips quirk up at the side, not missing my blunder. “There’s a lot of smoke,” I try to recover.

“Lead the way,” he offers. My thighs quiver and rub together as need and desire throb between them for the first time in my life.

I’m in so much trouble.

Turning away, I completely forget my state of undress until I hear his cursing. It’s too late to do anything now; he’s seen far more than most men have tried as I lead him to my car.

“Dangerous greeting a strange man looking like that.” I jump, my back hitting his chest as his hands settle on my ribs. I didn’t realize he was so close.

“It wasn’t intentional.” I turn my head to look up at him. He’d have to bend down to kiss me. Where did that thought come from?

It’s official, I’m broken. My brain is fried. I’m blaming the heat. Why does it have to be so hot, anyway?

“You won’t find me complaining, little girl.” Was that whimper me? When was the last time someone called me little girl?

Stop it, Matilda!

“What’s your name, sweetness?” He leans forward, forcing my body closer to the engine with one hand on the car's fender, and the other has managed to move down my thigh and is just inches from my pussy. My very wet and aching-for-him pussy.

His hands are oh so huge.

I have to lick my lips before answering him, “Matilda Grape-Vine.” My parents just had to give me both of their surnames.

“Bet you’re sweet like one too.” Before I can respond, his tongue travels up the column of my neck before he whispers, “Come for me, little girl.” And dear god, like the hussy I’m turning out to be, I do.